Harry Potter and the Purple Haze
by Whiteline
Summary: Something a little differant. You've read a Badass Harry Potter gets drunk and smokes pot? Right? Well, you've not read one quite like this. Written in second person; you are Harry Potter, and you have no idea what is going on. This is your fourth year.


Disclaimer: If I wrote Harry Potter we'd all still be on the first page.

A/N. This idea has bugged me for a while. My other story, What Happens in Vegas, will be updated every week, whereas this one will be done in bits.

I have NOT decided on the official pairing. Any ideas are welcome. I have two people in mind, but I can't decide which to choose.

So, before we begin, I will quote a wise, wise man; "I'm here to tell you about drugs and alcohol and why they're bad, mkay? So, first of all, uh, smokin's bad. You shouldn't smoke. And, uh, alcohol is bad. You shouldn't drink alcohol. And, uh, as for drugs, well, drugs are bad. You shouldn't do drugs." _Mr Mackay_

**Harry Potter and the Purple Haze**

Your life is kind of fucked up. Forgive the language, but you really can't think of better term for it. Just last term you learnt that you have an amazing and slightly crazy godfather. You also learned that you aren't allowed to see him until he is acquitted of the crimes he didn't commit. Instead _you_ have to live with your own version of the Wormwoods. If this were a film you would meet your godfather, be signed over to his care and live happily ever after, but this isn't a film, this is your life.

Today is your birthday. You're happy. I mean, why shouldn't you be? You have just received four delicious looking cakes. Why four? Because your friends have communication issues. Right now you are sunbathing in your local park, your shirt lies in a crumpled heap at your side, and the grass is prickling your pasty back.

"Hey, you gotta' light?"

To any normal person this question would not seem strange at all, but you aren't normal. Despite your muggle upbringing you haven't spent all that much time in the company of them. You open your eyes and glare up at the sandy haired boy that is currently blocking your sun.

"No, you're standing in it," you reply somewhat grouchily. The boy scowls and waves a rolled cigarette at you; you sit up. A part of you wants to try it. Why can't you do something reckless and stupid for a change? Okay, so maybe that kind of sums up your life so far, but everything you did then had a point, this doesn't.

"I haven't got one, sorry. You don't have a spare cigarette do you?" you ask. The boy shakes his head,

"I don't smoke," he says. You pull a face and he starts to laugh, "I don't smoke cigarettes," he clarifies. Now you are confused. You'd ask, but you don't want to look like an idiot. "You on your own?" You nod. "You from round here?" You nod again. "I haven't seen you before." You shrug this time, feeling the need to mix it up. "Elliott." He puts his hand out for you to shake, and you assume that he just told you his name; you also assume that you inadvertently just made a friend. Perhaps you should talk less in future?

"Harry," you say, "I go to boarding school." Elliott winces as he takes a seat beside you. Unconsciously you weigh him up; he is taller than you, but not by much, and from the appearance of his clothes he is reasonably well off.

"Shit isn't it? I used to go to one of those; I got kicked out." You smile. It's kind of contagious. He has a strange aura about him that just seems so, relaxed.

"How?" you ask, holding back the chuckles.

"Honestly?" you nod, "I don't know. Me and my mate Reid woke up on top of the school wearing my headmistress' lingerie and a pair of boxing gloves. Last thing I remember was breaking into the staff quarters and finding their liquor cabinet."

Despite a voice that sounds remarkably like Hermione telling you that this boy is bad news, you begin to laugh.

"Hey beautiful!" You jump as Elliott shouts to a passing girl; she is around your age and if you squint, you think you recognise her.

"Lyle!" she exclaims. She grins and you notice that she is rather pretty. Unfortunately you also notice that she just dove into your new friends arms, and is now trying to find out what flavour his tonsils are. Her skirt rides up a bit and you can't help but smirk as you get a glimpse of a pair of yellow knickers.

"Harry, this is Sarah, Sarah, this is Harry."

"I know you!" Your eyes widen. You knew you recognised her! Now you pray that she doesn't go to your school. "Potter, right? You went to my primary. Sarah Bahns? Remember?" The name rings a bell. Wasn't that the girl Dudley dated for two whole days? At seven, that's practically marriage.

"Yeah, I think so. You used to be blonde?"

She runs a hand self consciously though her brown locks, "I suppose I did," she laughs, "did you really get sent to St Brutus?"

Elliott, or Lyle- you're getting a confused again- is looking at you with a queer frown. You don't know what to say. So you say nothing. You should have known better. Nothing=guilt. You are now dubbed insane.

"I didn't do anything. My uncle doesn't like me," you say. Elliott doesn't look convinced, but Sarah is suddenly giving you a sympathetic look.

"I remember your uncle. You know Vernon Dursley?" She's speaking to Lyle, or Elliott. Right now she looks like Petunia does when she talks about you. Interesting old world, isn't it?

"_Dude_, that's your uncle?" You nod. "They come round for dinner sometimes. Mum _hates_ them! Vernon is mum's boss. Never mentions you, sorry mate." You laugh and point out that Vernon likes to pretend that you don't exist.

The couple have taken seats beside you. You are sat in a circle, similar to the one you often sit in with Ron and Hermione. Elliott borrows Sarah's lighter and sparks up what you thought was a cigarette. You are still unsure what it is he has, but on closer inspection you notice that it is longer and fatter than the cigarettes you have seen muggles smoking in the past.

"One toke pass?" Elliott says as he takes a large drag of his cigarette that isn't a cigarette. You watch it curiously; the end seems to fizzle as it burns down, and the smell is tantalising. He blows the smoke out in a long thin stream.

"What do you mean?" You realise that you really can't get out of faking it through this one. Maybe being in St Brutus will give you an excuse to be confused.

"I take a drag, then I pass it to my left. I can't breathe out until the joint comes back to me. It gets you mashed, mate."

You ponder what he just said, coming to the conclusion that around half of the words were foreign to you, and unfortunately they were the words that gave the sentence a point. So you nod, and decide to do what he does. After all, what's the worst that could happen?

Obviously you have never watched a Dr Pepper advert.

Half an hour later and you are lying on your back staring up at the sky. It's pretty. You really don't want to move from this spot, in fact, you don't think you can move. Everything is heavy, especially your brain. You can hear your new friends talking; you keep hearing the word whitey. It's funny, because that is what you have named the cloud you are watching.

"Potter, my brother's having a barbeque. You want to come?" That's Elliott talking. Is his name Lyle, or Elliott? Why does he have two names? You don't have two names. Wait. You have three names, no four. Or five. Everyone gives you names.

"Are you called Lyle or Elliott?" you ask. Your voice is slow and lazy. Your mouth feels heavy and your tongue is sticky. It feels like it grew fur, could that happen? You've seen it happen to people before. You stick it out and feel it with your fingers. It feels gooey and wet, no fur to speak of. You put it back in your mouth. You are frowning.

"What? Oh, right, I agree." Elliott is speaking. He sounds confused. You sit up slowly, the world spins, you don't think Elliott answered your question right, but you forgot what it was. You start to laugh. It's quite funny isn't it? Elliott laughs too, so does Sarah. It's not _that_ funny, is it? You don't know why you are laughing, but you can't stop. Your stomach hurts. Even that is funny.

A few minutes later you are stumbling down the road towards food. That is what you have been told, anyway. Your feet aren't co-operating. You watch them. One foot. Two foot. Three foot. Oh shit! Where did you get a third foot? You stop.

"What you doing?" Elliott asks. You can't see his eyes, so maybe he is blind.

"I got three feet!" you whisper, pointing at your trainers. Elliott comes closer and bends down to examine them. Sarah is giggling. She looks cute.

"It's just two. It's okay," Elliott assures you. He waves his hand and pulls on your arm. "Come on, we need food."

* * *

You like to think that the thing that solidified your friendship with Ron and Hermione was a life threatening fight with a troll. The thing that solidified your friendship with Elliott and Sarah was your fear of having three feet. It also gave them a way to introduce you to others. Now, every one of your new friends knows you as Threefoot, but only Elliott and Sarah know why. You are happy to know that you finally solved the Elliott/Lyle confusion; it turns out that Elliott goes to dance classes. This is meant to make sense to you- it doesn't, but you laugh anyway.

So, you've known your new friends for a few weeks now. It has made your summer much more tolerable. In the morning you do your chores, then you go down to the park where at least one of your friends is hanging out. There are seven altogether: Sarah, and Elliott- the dream couple, Kimberly and Joey- - the on again off again couple, Bond—the goof ball of the group, Holdem—the dumb one of the group, and finally Jessica- the girl that you have yet to see sober.

Most of them are older than you. Sarah and Kimberly are your age, but the rest are going into their sixth form. They are doing something called A levels. You assume it is like your Newts. Today you are excited, because today you are going to London, and you can finally pay back Elliott, who has been subbing you since you met.

As you pile onto the train you smile as, for the first time, you notice that you don't look out of place. About five minutes ago you shared a spliff, and now the seven of you are sprawled out in the train carriage having an intelligent discussion about what breed of dog the cartoon character Goofy is. Having watched the show yesterday with Bond and Holdem, for the first time you feel comfortable joining in the conversation.

It's strange, who would have thought that Uncle Vernon unintentionally made you cool? Today you are wearing a pair of ripped, grass stained jeans that fall half way down your butt and have to be held up with a frayed, black belt. Your shirt is three times too big and has been ripped and sown up so many times that if a shirt could look sorry for itself, yours would be crying. And yet, according to Sarah, you look cool. Fashion is a funny old thing, isn't it?

The group head to a nearby park with some alcohol they bought in an off licence. You were going to go to a pub, but every one you went into you got asked for ID; kind of annoying when not a one of you is eighteen yet. Luckily a nice guy you guys accosted went into the shop and bought you a bottle of Rum. He was nice. People in Little Whining aren't nearly so nice. They phone your parents. You like London.

You are wasted. There are no ifs or buts about it. Once again you did something you have never done before, this time it was eating a lovely sandwich Jessica had made. No one felt the need to tell you that Jessica's sandwiches were never just sandwiches.

Unfortunately you need to go to Diagon Ally. This would be okay if the effects of your sandwich had kicked in straight away. You see, then you would have waited until the effects wore off. But they didn't. And you went. And now you are stood at the door of the Leaky Cauldron, watching with fascination as it melts before your very eyes.

Slowly you reach out and press the door, you pull your hand back, unsure what just happened. You try again and this time it disappears. You jump. Did you take away the door? A man. You see a man. You reach out to touch him. Something stings your hand. You snatch it back. The man is still there. You reach out again and the sting returns. You pout and look at your hand in confusion.

The man is gone. You walk through the door making special care not to touch anything; you don't want to get stung. Once you are through you twist around with lightening speed and jump. _Shit_. The door is back! How did the door get back? You eye the door and slowly back away.

"Is that Harry Potter?" Voices whisper around you. You look around, you are surrounded by robed people. Their heads look like the bowling pins. You went bowing last week. The pins have come for revenge! You are scared. Your eyes dart through the pub, looking for an exit. The pins are coming closer.

"Are you okay, son?" The pin talked! You scream and run for the back-door. The door slams behind you and you lean against it as you catch your breath. That was close!

Safe at last you take your wand from your pocket and rap it against the brick wall in front of you. It's a little difficult because the bricks keep moving, so you concentrate and hit them quickly before they move again. The wall melts away, like the door earlier, but this time it's expected.

You see Diagon Ally. It looks the same, but you know it's different. It's like you just walked into a cartoon. You gaze around in awe. It's difficult to walk—the cobbles don't stay still. You put your arms out for balance and slowly wobble your way down towards the bank.

You aren't getting very far. You scowl. The bank is growing bigger and bigger. You gawk up at it agog. Then, you hear a voice...

"Harry?"

Your terrified screams echo through the street. You run, faster and faster. It's still there. It's floating beside you. What kind of monstrosity is this?

"Harry, what on earth are you doing?"

You stop. You're trembling. The talking cat is still there. Wait... no! It's Hermione. No, it's a cat. What? Hermione, cat, Hermione, cat.

"Stay still!" you snap.

"I haven't moved. You are the one running on the spot like a crazy person."

You look down at the floor. You're knee deep in cobbles. That's why you couldn't run! "The floor's broken," you explain. Hermione's cat eyes widen; they get bigger and bigger. You stare at them, entranced.

"Mrs Weasley; I think there's something wrong with Harry."

Your mouth is agape. The swirling, whirling windows of willow are enchanting. You don't know how long you've been watching them. Time stopped.

"Harry? Harry dear? What are you doing here? Harry?"

"I don't think he can hear you, mum."

"Harry, look at me dear. What happened?"

"I think he's cursed, Mrs Weasley."

"Harry, mate?"

"Have you tried shaking him?"

Holy shit! The world just shook. Where are you? Where have you been? What year is it? This is a strange time. Nothing is as it should be. You are surrounded by people. Their eyes are like bugs'. The floor is sucking you down. You feel it pulling at your feet.

"He's panicking!"

"It's okay mum, I've defiantly seen this curse before. It's child-play. Trust me."

Then the world went away.

* * *

Oh fuck. You have no idea where you are. This has happened one too many times over the last few weeks. At least this time there isn't a naked girl next to you. That freaked you out. She told you that you didn't sleep together. Apparently you humped her leg. She hasn't seen you since. You're good at hiding.

You sit up and take in your surroundings. That has served you well in the past. Blue walls. Book shelf. There is a bed above you. You are in bunk beds. Maybe someone is in the top bunk? You crawl out of bed and peer up. Nope, it's empty. You peer around some more. Pictures! Good! Moving pictures. Bad. Shit. You don't know them.

The door-handle wiggles. You watch it. Already your wand is in your hand. A little paranoid, aren't we? Well, in your defence people do seem to have it in for you. It opens.

"Who are you?"

The man laughs. He looks familiar. You know he is a Wealsey, but you've never met him. Maybe the drugs didn't wear off. This is trippy.

"It's Charlie, Ron's older brother, and the word you're looking for is thankyou. Mate, you took drugs and came to Diagon Ally? Are you fucking insane? Mum almost took you to St Mungos." He strolls into the room and flops down onto the bed. His smile is infectious and takes the harshness from his words.

You drop your wand and smile sheepishly. "What did you tell her?"

Charlie grins, "That it was some curse. I said it would wear off by morning and persuaded her to give you Bill's old bed. What were you on?"

Charlie looks amused. Your memories are a little distorted. What was a dream and what was real?

"I don't know. My friend gave me a sandwich then the next thing I know a door is melting and I'm being attacked by bowling pins." You shrug. Honestly, it's not the first time you've had such a trip. People like to give you drugs without telling you. It is a theme amongst your friends. Well, actually they do tell you, usually, they tell you the name, and you nod and smile. You need to stop doing that. You tell Charlie and he laughs.

"What kind of sandwich did she say it was?" You think back.

"Steak and mushroom." You remember, because you don't like mushrooms. But she'd laughed and told you they were shrooms. She seemed so adamant that that would mean you'd like them that you decided to eat it. Is honesty really the best policy? Ever since you began agreeing with people, despite not knowing what they said, your life became so much more interesting.

You look over at Charlie. Is it just you or does he seem like he's about to pee? "Tomorrow I'll come with you to get the rest of your stuff. This weekend is going to be epic!"

You wonder what is so special about this weekend. You decide not to question it. This zen thing you got going on is too good a thing to give up to a stupid thing like curiosity.

"I agree," you say instead.


End file.
